grey is my favorite color, I felt so symbolic
by karebear
Summary: Nate sees Rhyanon Amell faltering in her attempts to live up to her leadership role as Warden Commander. Oneshot. Collaboration with Acherubis.


_"Believe in me, because I don't believe in anything,  
__And I wanna be someone to believe."  
_- Counting Crows

Nate clears his throat, and knocks on the door to the study the new Warden Commander has claimed. The room technically belongs to Seneschal Varel, but Nate knows that Rhyanon Amell has kicked the man out as often as not.

The door isn't closed all the way, and he pushes it open gently, when the commander tells him to come in. He studies her carefully, trying to judge what mood she is in. "May I have a word with you, Commander?" He keeps his voice perfectly neutral, not yet letting on what it is he wants to talk with her about. Because the truth is, it's nothing good.

He's seen how distracted she's been, how careless. He's seen her making one illogical decision after another, or no decisions at all, when it comes to the arling and the rebuilding of the Wardens. And he knows a thing or two about what he's seeing. After all, he'd been raised to follow after his father as the arl some day, before everything went down the drain.

His quick appraisal is enough to notice that the commander looks like she hasn't been sleeping. She looks physically exhausted. And overwhelmed. And confused. Her desk is littered with paperwork, but she barely glances at it. He hesitates for a fraction of a second. Even from here, he can see the shadows under her eyes. He thinks about coming back the next day, but decides against it. Now is as good a time as ever. Or as bad.

He comes a little closer but remains standing, hands crossed behind his back. He waits for permission to speak, because she's not paying full attention to him.

Rhyanon squirms a little under his unblinking stare. "What do you want?" she asks cautiously.

Nate frowns, but he relaxes slightly. Well, at least in posture. If anything, her uncertainty only makes him more worried.

He clears his throat and exhales cautiously, then plunges on ahead. "I was wondering if you'd decided how we're supposed to proceed with the volunteers coming to the Keep. As far as I'm led to believe, we are looking for recruits. But not everyone seems suitable. Your men are wondering what is expected of them."

Rhyanon frowns. There are people _volunteering_? To die against the darkspawn. _Why_? She knows what the Joining is about, and they don't. It doesn't seem fair.

She studies the man in front of her now, the prodigal son caught breaking into his own home. She doesn't know how to talk to him, not really. He belongs in charge of this place, doesn't he? He belongs here far more than she does, and yet here he is, asking her what he's supposed to do. He watches her, calm and impassive, waiting for an answer.

"Make it clear that volunteers need to be absolutely committed," she replies, with quiet force. "Make it _clear_ what kind of threat we're facing. I won't lie to them. And the ones who aren't... suitable…" She stops, briefly, drawing in a long breath, buying herself half a second to think. It sounds so wrong, making that kind of judgement. Saying it out loud. "We can find something for them to do," she insists. "The Keep is falling apart. We need help with more than fighting. It's even _more_ important. We need people who can build defenses, find food and armor and trade. We need..." She stops. Nathaniel knows what they need. Probably better than she does.

"May I suggest we try that... test... you've been mentioning? Collecting darkspawn blood. Most of them will already chicken out at the mere suggestion of that. It'll make things easier."

He's right. Rhyanon knows it immediately.

She remembers what it was like for her, the pure blind terror of fighting her first darkspawn in the Korcari Wilds. She'd never have done it if she hadn't been forced to. But when she was... She had to stay alive. She fought to keep herself alive. It's a good test. "Do it," she orders. "Send whoever is willing as soon as we can."

Nate nods briskly. "Very well. Will you be part of a squad, Commander? It would be good for morale if you took part in the testing."

Rhyanon blinks and shakes her head, trying to clear her thoughts. _She has to focus._ "Of course I'll go," she replies, instantly. _How is that even a question?_ "Anders can go too. Help make sure everyone comes back alive."

To Nate's discerning ears, the commander sounds confused. Insulted even. Well, he probably would be too, in her place. He's pretty much come to accuse her of being completely incompetent. "Of course, Commander," he says evenly. "My apologies. I didn't mean to question your resolve. But you seemed... preoccupied as of late. I was under the impression you had more pressing matters to attend to."

"Stop calling me 'Commander.' Please. It's Rhyanon." She look at him directly for the first time since he got here. "Do you want to sit down?"

There's a chair. Books are on it, but he could move those. He doesn't, though. He ignores her offer to sit down. "With all due respect, Commander, it wouldn't be suitable for me to call you by your first name. You are the commander and the arlessa. It would undermine your status."

Rhyanon snorts. "Who exactly am I trying to impress with the fancy names? There's nobody in here but me and you, and the titles don't do anything to impress you."

Nate suppresses a smile. She's clever, he'll give her that. The problem he sees is that she doesn't know it, and she _has_ to know her own strength if she wants to be a good leader.

"No, they don't," he agrees. "But there are enough people out there who care a lot about 'fancy names.' Why do you think they come to volunteer? It's certainly not the prospect of going into the Deep Roads fighting darkspawn. It's the prestige of serving under the Hero of Ferelden. You have to use your names to your advantage, Commander."

"I never asked to be a hero. Or a commander." Rhyanon shrugs. "A long, long time ago I was surrounded by tutors who insisted I know the right way to dress, and speak, and which bannermen swore to which lords and what their shields looked like and how to run a household. I hated it then and I remember only little flashes of it now."

Nate can hear the resignation in her voice, the defensiveness. He leans down, placing his hands on her desk. He looks her straight in the eye. "Tell me one thing, Commander: if you hate it so much, if you never wanted to be in the place you are now... then why are you here?"

"Because my only other option is death." She says it evenly, without a hint of fear. Resigned, just like he noticed already.

"Good to know that," Nate spits. "It at least explains why you try so damn hard to get yourself killed. Yourself _and your men_. I think I may be well advised to send a letter to the queen to ask for a replacement."

"If you wanna be in charge, just say so!" Rhyanon yells.

She takes his well-mannered proposal as the threat it is. Which is weird. She doesn't want the job. And she does think she should be dead... Doesn't she?

"When did I say that?" Nate asks. He shakes his head. "No, another Howe in charge is certainly not a good idea. Not right now. But the fact remains that you are not fit to lead the Wardens, not when you have a death wish." He shrugs. "We can solve that right here and now." He holds her gaze, noticing _everything_. Every gesture, every breath. He needs a confirmation, one way or another. if he has to trust her, he has to be absolutely certain that trust is well-deserved.

"If you were gonna kill me, you'd have done it by now," Rhyanon tells him. Her voice is just as carefully even as his. "I've had enough people threaten my life to know when they're serious."

And she is the worst offender. Does she have a death wish? Kinda depends on when you ask.

"Oh, I'm _dead_ serious, Commander. I'd rather end it right here than see another soldier risk his life for someone who doesn't give a damn if they live or die. It might even be considered a blessing. One life for the life of many." Slowly, he draws the dagger by his side and places it on the desk in between them. "I ask you again, Commander. Do you have a death wish?"

"Yes," Rhyanon whispers. It sounds desperate. Pained.

Nate reaches for the dagger. He picks it up again, slowly, deliberately. He steps around the desk, behind he, and wraps an arm around her chest. He places the blade at her throat with light pressure, makes her feel the coldness of the steel. "I'll make it quick."

Rhyanon ignores him, ignores the threat, ignores everything. She focuses inside, enough to cast. A layer of magical armor forms itself, clinging close to her skin. She slams her elbow backward into Nate and pulls away from him. The movement makes the dagger scrape, enough to bleed, but the cut isn't deep and she ignores it. Her mana is crackling all around her. And she stares him down. Her heart is beating dangerously fast. She's ready to fight. She studies him, trying to figure out his next move.

Nate struggles to breathe, holding his ribs where her elbow caught him. It hurts. Bad. The girl has quite the punch.

He laughs. relieved and amused, despite the pain. "Well done, Commander," he rasps. "Very well done."

Rhyanon's fingers are still clenched into a tight fist, and she doesn't bother to shut down the wild sparks of raw magic that need an outlet. "Isn't that treason?" she asks. "Or mutiny or something? Almost killing me."

"If i wanted to kill you, you'd be dead now. I just wanted to prove a point."

Rhyanon lets the magic bleed away slowly. "You think I'm going to throw away lives?" She sits on the edge of the desk, trying not to let on how exhausted that sudden expenditure of mana made her. She shakes her head. "Only mine. And only when _I_ decide."

"Then what was that in the Deep Roads the other week? You blindly ran into an ambush the rest of us saw coming from a mile away! I warned you, if you may recall, and so did Jamie, but you didn't listen! You do know who Jamie is, right? The one who almost lost his leg down there because of your recklessness! And it could easily have been more than just his leg! So don't you dare telling me you're only playing with your own life, _Commander_!" He spits the title at her, furious. Her attitude makes him angry beyond belief. He's sure she can be a good commander, he wouldn't go through all this effort if he wasn't sure, but she is so damned careless it is going to get them all killed. It's a matter of when, not if. And he needs her to see it!

Nathaniel's yelling makes Rhyanon flinch. Not visibly, she knows better than that, but inside she's cringing. Still, if he's going to come in here and demand that she's in charge... She grabs him, and slams him against the wall. "You don't just get to come in here and attack me," she snarls.

He defends himself, as she'd known he would. He grabs her and twists her arms behind her back. "See it as a wake-up call. It's high time you show some responsibility!"

Rhyanon throws him off of her and glares at him. "Sit. Down," she growls. "Touch me again and I'll throw you back in a cell." She is ice cold now. Her head pounds with pain and there's a whining buzz. She ignores that.

Nate chuckles, sarcastically, and gives her one more shove before he steps back. "Ah, so you're threatening people now. You don't take criticism too well, do you?"

It takes serious effort to unclench her jaw and relax her muscles, to convince herself that he is not really attacking her. She leans against the wall and hesitates for a few long seconds. Then she just shakes her head: No. She really doesn't.

Nate looks at her for a long moment, but then he does as she told him, and sits down in front of the desk. He looks relaxed, with his fingers loosely crossed in front of him and one leg over the other. He doesn't speak. It's her turn.

She sits down too, in her chair across the desk from him. "Mages exist to serve man, never to to rule over them," she says quietly. She quotes in arcanum, wondering if the man she'd caught behaving as a common thief is really as well educated as he's supposed to be.

Nate raises an eyebrow. "The Chant? I didn't know you were a believer, Commander... but those nice little verses are lost on me, I'm afraid, so don't think you can excuse your behavior with them. You took this post and it remains your responsibility until you or the queen choose otherwise. And as long as that's the case, you will have to act the part. Or are you really so cold that you don't care for Jamie, or any other man under your command?"

"Of course I care!" Rhyanon yells. She closes her eyes, and forces herself to breathe. To calm down. Her emotions are dangerously turbulent, and of course he knows that! Isn't that why he's here? "I just... _You_ were taught how to be a soldier. How to lead, how to _take responsibility._ I spent my whole life learning that I am not allowed to be a leader! That no one will listen to me, that no one should!" She meets Nathaniel's eyes, begging him to understand. But why would he? How _could _he? She tries to put it into words anyway. "It's not an easy lesson to shake off," she demands desperately. "Especially when the whole world is dying around you, no matter how much you _care_. You think I'm not trying? You're wrong."

"More excuses? You should consider a political career, Commander. You've got the basics down already. It is a small miracle you survived the Blight, the way you describe things. The mage Warden I heard about led a whole army into war. She fought an archdemon on top of Fort Drakon. I have a hard time imagining the little girl in front of me doing all of that."

"Shut up! You don't know anything about me or what happened during the Blight! Where were you? Hiding across the sea, playing with toy swords?"

That comment strikes right where it intended to, but Nate keeps his face blank. This is not about him. She's deliberately mean. Just like him.

"You're right," he replies softly. He bites out every word, making sure she hears him. "I wasn't here. I wasn't even close. I do have ears, though, and the stories they tell show a different Warden than the one standing here in front of me. Even when you leave the exaggerations out, your deeds speak loudly enough. Where has that woman gone, Rhyanon?"

"I didn't die," she responds. It's maybe the first truly honest thing she's said since that night he insists on making her relive. "I didn't die and I was supposed and that stupid stubborn idiot didn't listen to me! He made a promise and he broke it and he didn't even think about the fact that I _wanted_ to die! I wanted to, I was supposed to! _I_ was supposed to!"

She's completely falling apart. She's not thinking about what she's saying or who she's talking to. She just has to say it.

And Nate isn't surprised. Not at all. The stories always do have some truth in them, and it's obvious that the stories about her loving the dead Warden, the bastard-king, contain all the truth in the world.

"And what is it that makes you so angry?" he asks quietly. "That he saved your life because he thought you deserved to live? Or is it more that you wanted to be the great hero who sacrificed herself for her country and he took that away from you?"

Maybe he should show compassion but he can't bring himself to. She doesn't need his pity. She's got enough pity for herself already.

"I don't deserve to live," Rhyanon insists. Her voice is bitter enough that it nearly chokes both of them.

"Did you trust him, Rhyanon? Really trust him? Or was he just… what? A way to blow off some steam? One among many?"

"Of course he wasn't! He was..." She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to calm her breathing. How is she even supposed to put into words what Alistair was? "I trusted him. I loved him. I believed in him. He was everything."

"Then why in the Void do you spit on his sacrifice?! He wanted you to _live_! He believed you _deserve _to live! And what are you doing? You try to die! Instead of honoring his wish, you step on it!"

Rhyanon curls up on herself, wraps her arms tight around her body, ducks her head. She's crying. "Because he was wrong about me," she insists. "I'm not a hero, I can't help anybody. Everyone I care about gets hurt. It doesn't matter what I say or do or try, I can't stop it. All I can do is watch. I have to watch the people I love get hurt. I have to watch them die. And I just can't do it anymore, I _can't_! I don't want to!"

_You don't have to_. Maker, why can't she see it. Why won't she believe him when he tells her that? "You helped a lot of people already, you know?" Nate points out. "You ended a _Blight_. Do you think just anyone would have been able to do that? Maybe you're no hero. No one ever really is. But you proved that you have the strength to change things. And your friend knew it. He trusted you. Enough to give you a second chance at life." The reluctant commander stares at him with reddened eyes. Nate presses on. "People get hurt," he tells her softly. "You have to live with it, want to or not. Especially the ones you love."

She looks like she wants to believe it. Like she wants to, and can't. "I just don't know what to do anymore. How to... change things. He just left me! He left me all alone and I don't know what to do."

_Yes you do, _Nate thinks. _You do know. _"Make him proud," he says aloud. "Don't let his sacrifice be for nothing. Prove that he was right to save you. If you loved him as you said, you'll do that. You'll figure out some way to make it work." He sounds strangely tired. His voice is soft, quiet. He's looking at her, but it seems like he doesn't really see her.

"Why do you even care?" she asks quietly. She looks up at him. She's calmer now, curious. Talking about Alistair makes her stomach hurt, there's a searing burn choking her, but it's no longer the stabbing needle. She can talk. She can think more clearly now. "What makes you so sure I can do this? Why do you even listen to me in the first place?"

_Why are you trying to help me?_ is what she doesn't ask.

"Why didn't you execute me when you had the chance?" he counters.

"Because I'm not like them!" It's an instantaneous response. No thought involved.

"Them?" Nate asks softly. He treads lightly, afraid to say the wrong thing and shut her down again. He holds her gaze. He barely breathes.

Rhyanon blinks and takes a few careful breaths. Sometimes it's still hard to remember that not everyone comes from the same world she does, with a sword dangling at your throat every minute of every day. "The templars who were about to execute me," she clarifies, without looking at the soldier sitting across from her.

Nate notices her skittishness, the attempt there, in her body language, to push him away. He doesn't let her do that. He just shakes his head. "That's no answer," he insists. "Why didn't you execute me?"

He's genuinely curious. The walls of this Keep are far less comfortable than he lets on. Rhyanon isn't the only one haunted by shadows and ghosts and old memories. "I insulted you. I broke into the Keep. I tried to kill you. I gave you good reasons."

"Because I've seen enough people die. I don't need to add more to the list. I don't _want_ to kill you, I don't want to kill anybody. I told you, I'm sick of seeing people get hurt because of me." She frowns, still avoiding looking at him. "Plus, what the hell kind of person thinks insulting someone is a good enough reason to kill them?"

Nate chuckles. "See? That's why I care. I've got a good feeling, with you. You're a good person. Your friend was right about that." He sighs. "I want to help you, Rhyanon, but you have to give me the chance to do so. And if not me, then someone else. You have to learn to trust yourself and your men. They depend on you, and you have to depend on them. We need our commander."

"Okay," she says softly.

It's easy to agree, harder to understand. Trust isn't an easy thing. But she can try.

Nate knows it's gonna be hard for her. He sees the insecurity on her face, in her movements, the way she guards herself alone in a quiet room even if she won't out on the battlefield. But he smiles, and hopes it's comforting enough. Out in the Marches, he'd tried reassuring the younger squires and pages as they trained for war, all alone for the first time. He hadn't felt much good at it even then, and this seems harder. But the Commander does seem to be listening to him. For a change.

"You should begin by mingling with your men a little more," he suggests carefully. "It doesn't serve you well to hide away in here."

He's right. Rhyanon knows he is. And she thinks she can do that, probably. She watches him, still looking so serious. His eyes are shadowed and troubled, even when he's smiling. "Hey, Nate," she asks softly. "How do you know if someone's a good person?"

His smile gets wider, and warmer. Her use of his familiar nickname makes him feel like something important has melted away. He suddenly doesn't think of her as a commander anymore. More quickly than he'd have ever thought possible, he sees her as a friend. _How do you know if someone's a good person. _

"Observing," he tells her. "Listening. Trusting your gut. You just… _know_. And I know I'm right, with you."

He's convinced about that, and it shows in the way he looks at her, says that to her. He _knows_.

"I think I need help," she admits. "I might… I might need you to remind me, sometimes. There's a lot of voices in my head that scream too loud to ignore. And they don't agree with you."

The darkness in her tone unsettles her, as does her admission. But he nods. "I'm here," he tells her simply. "And trust me, I am not afraid to knock you down a notch or two if I think you deserve it." He gives her a gentle smile, an attempt to lighten the mood. She just stares at him though. She's _so_ serious.

"Why aren't you scared of me?" she whispers.

"Why should I be? Because you're a mage? There are worse things out there than mages, Rhyanon. And you know that, don't you?"

"Yes."

He nods. "I thought so." He holds her gaze. "I'm not easily scared."

"I'm getting that impression." She smiles a little. "You're... not what I expected."

He raises an eyebrow at her, amused. "Is that a compliment or an insult, Commander?"

"It's a compliment. Don't be an ass."

She's grinning now, and Nate returns the smile. "I wouldn't dream of it."

* * *

Welp... **Acherubis** posted a challenge on the DAWC forums/DA Writers Facebook group, the basic gist of which was to write a stories inspired by random songs collected via iTunes shuffle. This song did come up on my iTunes shuffle, and this scene, technically a collaboration with the very same Acherubis, as she wrote 90% of Nate's dialogue via online rp last year, was the first thing that came to mind. I asked for her permission to repurpose those old words, and she very graciously said yes. Which, I am so glad, because seriously, I cannot say enough about how much help she's given me in defining and solidifying my headcanon. Thank you, friend!


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